Callisto (10 page)

“Odell,” I told him.

“Where's Dean?”

“He's not here right now.”

He looked at me, then behind me down the hall, like he's
expecting Dean to appear and make me a big liar. “Well, where is he?”

“Over at his sister's place, I think. He wasn't real clear.”

“So who're you?”

“Odell.”

“No, man, that's a nigger name. What's it really?”

“Odell.”

“What're you to Dean, related or something?”

“Just a friend.”

He wasn't happy about any of this. “He's supposed to be here. He coming back or what?”

“I don't think so, the way he talked. I believe there's a family emergency.”

“Like what, his aunt? She have a heart attack?”

“No, Bree's away in Florida on vacation right now.”

“Well, shit, he was supposed to be here. Did he leave something? How close of a friend exactly are you?”

“Oh, we're pretty close, Dean and me.”

“Well, did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Leave something for me.”

He was getting agitated now, and it seemed to me he's the drug-taking kind, with a leather thong around his neck and a silver spider on it. He was shifty-eyed and squirmy too, like Dean was before he passed on, so they are two of a kind, I'm thinking. He would've been a lot more pissed off about Dean not being there if I was a shorter man, I knew that just by looking.

“Like what?” I said.

“Jesus, man . . .
payment
, like we arranged.”

So he wants the money that Lorraine was looking for. I
thought about what to do with regard to this. I would have rather it went to Lorraine than this guy because I liked her and didn't like him.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“What is this, some kind of a fuckin' test?”

All of a sudden he's afraid, and I knew the reason for it – he's thinking I'm a cop because of the six-three and my hair's kind of short like cops have it, regulation crewcut, which I got in Colorado last week to make myself look more like a soldier so they take me in the Army, and he's thinking the T-shirt and shorts is my undercover disguise.

“He's supposed to be here,” he said again, “or call me if there's a problem. If you know Dean then you know what I'm talking about.”

It was a challenge to let me know he's suspicious about me. I wanted him gone so I could get on with what I was getting set to do, the burying thing, and it seemed like the best idea was to give this guy what he come for so he goes away, otherwise he'll be back. This was definitely shaping up to be some kind of illegal situation, I'm thinking, but that can't be helped.

“He did leave something,” I said.

“Yeah? Well, good, I'm glad about that. You gonna hand it over or what?”

“I have to give it to the right guy.”

“Jesus . . . okay, I'm Darko.”

“Darko?”

“Donnie, but they call me Darko for the movie.”

“What movie?”

“Fuck, man, don't you go to the movies? Donnie fuckin' Darko, okay?”

I could tell he wasn't testing me by using a fake name to see if I really knew who's supposed to collect the money. If he was doing that he would've said his name's John or Frank or something, not Donnie Darko.

“Wait here.”

I went upstairs and got the money, then come down again and handed it over. It hurt to do that, even if the money's not mine to begin with, but it seemed like the safest thing to do. He took it and counted it then says, “Back in a minute,” and went down to his car, where he opens the trunk and gets out a package and brings it back. It was wrapped in newspaper and taped every which way, about the size of a lunch bucket. He wasn't nervous like before, now that he had the money and was sure I'm no cop.

“Tell Dean next time I want to see him here, not some substitute.”

“Okay.”

He got in his car and drove away. I sat on the porch rocker for a little while, waiting to see if anyone else might show up unexpected, but nobody did. This is called adapting to circumstances, which I was very fast learning I had the knack of. It was kind of late by then, and I had a long hard day behind me with plenty of surprises that I was not expecting a single one of them, which takes its toll, so I decided to fix up Dean and Bree tomorrow, real early. Then I took a shower and went to bed, I already spent one night on the sofa and one night on the porch rocker, so this time I did the sensible thing and used Bree's bed, even if there's too strong of a perfumey smell in her room like you find with old ladies. They must think they start to smell bad when they get old or something.

T
here is nothing like a good night's rest to make you wake up feeling better about things than they seemed like the night before when they were dark and confusing. You might think I should've had bad dreams over what happened but no, so that means I don't have a guilty conscience like I thought I did. When I looked at everything that happened, I was not a bad person yet. Whanging Dean with the bat was not intended to kill him as it was not done hard enough for that. I don't know what made him die anyway, but it would have had to be something else that happened afterwards, a medical development inside the head I did not make happen. So I was not guilty, that's how I felt, and it was a good feeling. But here's the thing – if I went and buried the both of them, Dean and Bree, then I knew it would make me feel bad and guilty and a very evil person, which I did not want to be, who would?

But if I didn't bury them what else could I do with them
that won't get me in trouble? I lay in bed thinking about that, watching sunlight creep across the ceiling slow and peaceful. I have always been early to rise and am a good thinker at that time before getting out of bed to greet the day, only 6.18 so far says Bree's clock by the bedside, so I don't have to get up yet and can keep on thinking like I was.

And it worked, the thinking, because a new plan come to mind and here it is – I won't bury them, either one, I'll tell Lorraine I went down to the freezer to get something for breakfast and when I dug around in there I found Bree, which was a big shock as you might expect, and then I noticed a bad smell and figured it can't be Bree because she's all froze up, so there must be something else down there stinking the place out, and it didn't take me long to find Dean stuffed under the stairs . . .Only that won't work because I already told Lorraine he went away with the guy in the green Pontiac. So Dean is still a problem, but at least Bree is explained, by which I mean it'll look like Dean killed her, which he did, and then run away in the Pontiac . . . but I intend handing over the package the Pontiac guy delivered last night to make Lorraine happy that she got what she was looking for, after all – the package, not the money, I finally got that right – so if the Pontiac guy Donnie Darko come by last night with the package, how come he didn't have Dean with him still? . . .And the smell will let Lorraine know Dean's been dead awhile now. . .and it wouldn't work, so I had to think again.

I got restless because the problem wasn't solved and got up. While the air is still cool I decided to fill in the hole in the yard before I get tempted to bury Dean in it, which would make me a criminal. It took around fifteen minutes and made
a fairly high mound that would take a long time to settle back level, but that could be hid from view by putting the chicken coop over it the way I'm sure Dean planned. So I did that, following his wishes, you might say, dragged the coop over and positioned it over the mound, which got the chickens clucking angry at me for messing with their house, but it worked out fine that way, with the mound out of sight inside which you couldn't see it except if you lifted the coop aside and looked, and who's going to do that? Nobody, that's who. There's a square patch of scratched-over dirt piled with chicken shit left there where the coop stood till now, but that's a natural thing that won't get anyone interested in it, I'm thinking.

So that was done, but I still had to figure what I'll do with Dean, who is the pesky fly in the soup here. I went in his room and the smell there has gotten a lot worse because Dean has gone and shit himself, don't ask me how a dead man can do that but he did, so now his room is just awful to be in. What I did, I got a spare sheet from the closet and laid it out on the floor, then drug Dean out from under the bed and rolled him up in the sheet and carried him downstairs and out to the barn just to get that smell gone from the house. I put him up in the hayloft out of harm's way where no one's likely to catch a whiff of him and smell a rat. It's a good thing I already filled in the yard hole or I might have been tempted to put Dean in there just to be rid of that stink he's making, but there's no way I'm digging that dirt out again, so he can stay in the barn for just now while I do some more thinking about how I'm going to fix this.

While I was out in the barn I checked the lawnmowing
schedule for today and there's no job penciled in until eleven, which suits the first part of my plan perfect. I took a shower then and put my clothes in the washing machine because I worked up a sweat filling the hole and carrying Dean out to the barn, then I went and phoned Lorraine. I was real hungry by then but it would not look good when she come over to have the house smelling of breakfast when I'm supposed to be in shock and horror about finding Bree down in the freezer. I got the story fixed in my mind, then I called Lorraine's number right by the phone like she said. The phone rang a few times then her voice says, “Hello?” It's still only 7.20 so I might have woke her up.

“Hey, Lorraine,” I said, “it's me.”

“Who?”

“Me, Odell.”

“Odell?”

“Yeah, how're you?”

“What do you want, Odell?” She sounded grumpy, so I must have woke her.

“Well, I have got good news and bad. Which one do you want first?”

“The bad,” she says, which was a surprise. Most people want the good news first to give them something to fall back on when they get hit by the bad, but it takes all kinds.

“Uh, maybe you should hear the good news first.”

“Whatever.” She still sounded sore.

“Well, this morning I went out on the porch to greet the day and there's a package there waiting, so I thought maybe that's the thing you were looking for last night. You said a package, so I'm thinking maybe this is the one.”

“A package?”

“Right outside the door, all taped up.”

“Did you open it?” Her voice was awake now, with an edge to it, so I have got her attention, all right.

“No.”

“Well, don't. When I get out there I expect to find that package intact. How the hell did it get there?”

“I was thinking about that, and I think someone must've left it in the night. I'm a heavy sleeper so maybe that's when it happened, when I'm asleep, that's all I can think of how it happened.”

“You put that package somewhere out of sight and leave it there till I come over. I'm coming over there right now.”

“Okay . . .”

Then she went and hung up on me, which shows how agitated she is about the package, not waiting to hear the bad news even. I hung up the phone, thinking to myself it's clever the way I don't have to explain about finding the money now and talking to Donnie Darko, which would have opened up a whole new can of worms, as they say. Those early morning plans are generally the best kind.

In around twenty minutes she showed up, wearing her uniform same as last night, and without even saying Good morning or anything she says, “Where is it?”

I brung it out of the kitchen cupboard where I had it stashed and the look on her face says she's relieved it isn't opened like she wanted. She turned it over and over a few times, then made me tell the story again about finding it on the porch right next to the screen door. That part she doesn't like, I could tell, because it's mysterious and unexplained,
which are both things that upset some people. I was not upset because to me there's nothing mysterious and unexplained about it, just a simple fiberoo to smooth things over.

“I need breakfast,” she said, setting the package down. “Would you mind?”

“Well, there's a problem about that.”

“What problem? You didn't eat your way through all the food, did you? The freezer's got plenty, you said.”

“Well, about that freezer, it's got a problem. That's the bad news I told you about but you hung up the phone so fast I didn't get to tell you about it.”

“If it's broken, call an electrician, just keep the lid down to keep the cold in.”

“No, it's working fine, but there's something in there that's not frozen food. Okay, it's frozen, but it isn't food . . .”

“Odell, you're making my head ache. What's wrong with the damn freezer?”